


Best Men

by zcinmalik



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alcohol, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Drunken Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Minor Alicia Boyd/Liam Dunbar, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zcinmalik/pseuds/zcinmalik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd, in a moment of startling clarity, finally feels the unnatural weight of the gold band adorning his ring finger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcjennjen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcjennjen/gifts).



> Thanks so much to [dylangayberry](http://dylangayberry.tumblr.com/) for the beta! As always, I really appreciate your time and help. Any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Thanks also to the amazing exchange mods for your patience!

As soon as Boyd wakes up, he wishes he was back asleep again. His head is pounding dully, his mouth is dry, and light is streaming into his eyes from an open window.

A phone promptly starts ringing. Boyd groans and slaps at the bedside table for it. He only glances at the picture displayed for a moment before answering. 

“Erica?”

“And where did you end up last night?” she asks, the smirk audible in her voice.

Boyd sits up properly, glancing around. He's in the same hotel room he’s been staying in for the past few days, except—

“Oh shit,” he whispers, staring now at the man lying asleep in bed next to him.

“Oh shit,” Erica mimics with a fake baritone, then laughs. “Oh shit is right, you have an hour to get ready and get your ass over here. No time for an extra quickie.”

Boyd stumbles out of bed, glancing back at the still-sleeping form. “Is Alicia—”

“Alicia’s fine, but she’s annoyed that you chose last night of all nights to finally get laid.”

“Right,” he mumbles. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Aww, are you being quiet so you won’t wake him up? You should invite him to come with you if he’s that fine piece of ass you sent me pictures of, because—”

Boyd hangs up.

When he turns to look properly at the guy in his bed, he has to admit that he is in fact a pretty fine piece of ass. The guy is wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, one of his hands resting just above the dark curls that trail down from his belly button. His chest rises and falls slowly. The guy is _built_. Boyd spends a few moments staring at his thighs, thick with muscle and covered with dark hair. He’s got two bands tattooed on his arm, and his face is slack in sleep, his mouth hanging open slightly.

The guy flails suddenly, nearly falling out of bed, when someone starts furiously pounding on the door. Boyd jumps and turns to the source of the noise.

“Scott! Scott, open the door!”

The guy—Scott—groans and rubs at his temple. “Malia?”

“Who else would it be? Open the door!”

Scott looks up. His eyes trail over Boyd’s body as Boyd realizes that he’s also stripped to his underwear. Scott’s jaw drops for a moment. “I—um—”

“I’ll just—” Boyd indicates the door. Then, because his decision making skills have clearly been more compromised by his hangover than he realized, he stumbles over the clothes-strewn floor to open it. He’s met by the sight of a pretty blonde woman in a wedding dress, lifting her fist as if to knock once again.

She frowns at the sight of him, taking in his naked chest and boxers. “Scott sent a text last night that said he was sleeping in this room. You’ll have to fuck each other more later, he needs to come with me now. He’s the best man for my wedding.”

Boyd stares at her, dumbstruck, and behind him he feels Scott approach the doorframe.

“What—? Malia?”

Malia turns to look at Scott once he gets in her line of sight. “There you are. Get dressed, it starts in half an hour. Stiles would’ve come to get you, but he’s been all nervous and freaked out ever since this morning. Even though this whole thing was his idea in the first place, and I told him I’ve never understood the point of weddings anyway, and—”

“Oh my god, is he okay?” Scott asks, somewhat breathlessly. His hair is mussed and Boyd has to prevent himself from giving in to a ridiculous urge to run his fingers through it. “Oh my god, shit!”

Malia holds a hand up, then recites as if she’s memorized something. “Stiles said he didn’t call to wake you up earlier because it was about time you got laid. You’d better not feel guilty about it or he’s going to throw cake at your face after this is all over.”

A sheepish smile overtakes Scott’s face, and it’s kind of breathtaking to see. It’s like he lights up or something. Boyd glances down at the ground quickly, because if he doesn’t stop getting distracted by this guy, he’s not sure he’ll ever get a hold on the situation.

“Okay,” Scott says. “Just give me a minute, I remember I brought the suit here with me once we, uh… got back.” He shoots Boyd a grin, his face a little flushed, and ducks behind him.

The few minutes that it takes Scott to shower and get dressed are mostly filled with a prolonged silence. Occasionally Boyd (“I’m just gonna… put some pants on”) or Malia (“So what’s your name again?”) will attempt to fill it, but they both seem mostly comfortable without talking. Given the fact that he’s still nursing a pretty awful hangover, Boyd’s relieved.

When Scott comes out of the bathroom, the first thing Boyd notices is that the suit he’s wearing is _fitted_ , in a way that seems vaguely obscene. But before Boyd gets caught up in staring at the way Scott’s jacket narrows perfectly as it meets his waist, Boyd notices his face. Scott looks shocked, and he’s directing his wide-eyed gaze at Boyd. More specifically, Boyd realizes—and it seems like time slows down here for a moment—Scott is staring at where Boyd’s left hand is hanging by his side. He’s clutching his own hand as if he’s been burned.

Boyd, in a moment of startling clarity, finally feels the unnatural weight of the gold band adorning his ring finger.

* * *

Years from now, Boyd will still never quite understand how he manages to make it to the wedding on time, dressed and shaved, and with the rings in hand. The service is being held in a small church, and by the time Boyd gets there, people are already starting to file inside. He jogs to the atrium, where he knows Alicia will be.

Erica, Cora, and some of Alicia’s other college friends are all in various states of preparedness, with some still touching up their make-up and others adjusting their dresses. Boyd immediately looks for Alicia, who’s pacing the short length of one of the walls. She glances up at him and breaks into a relieved grin.

“I was worried you’d get stuck in traffic.”

Boyd smiles and makes his way over. “Best man’s not allowed to be late. You look beautiful.”

She’s wearing an elegant, sleek dress, the hem of which brushes against the floor. Alicia’s veil shimmers in the light, and Boyd realizes when he gets closer that she’s wearing their mother’s silver necklace.

Alicia follows Boyd’s gaze, and she touches her throat self-consciously.

“It looks perfect,” he assures. Then, when the uncertain look in Alicia’s eyes doesn’t entirely abate, he softly adds, “They would’ve been so happy, Alicia. They’d have loved this.”

Alicia’s eyes well with emotion and she tugs Boyd into a hug.

They stand that way for a while, until Alicia takes a deep breath and steps back. She waves at her eyes, which are still glimmering a bit, and admonishes, “You’re gonna make me ruin my make-up. Go get out there.”

* * *

During the reception that afternoon, Boyd gives the speech that he’s been practicing in the mirror for months. He finds, to his relief, that his palms only get a little sweaty. After he’s done he grins, raises his glass, and says, “To Alicia and Liam.”

Once he sits back down, Alicia leans over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, V,” she whispers.

It isn’t until he’s seen Alicia and Liam off on the official start of their honeymoon, waving goodbye as their car pulls out of the parking lot, that Boyd can no longer focus on the beauty of the ceremony or how happy he is for his sister.

Boyd pulls the ring out of his pocket, stares at it for a moment, and whispers, “ _Fuck_.”

* * *

Scott’s grateful that he already had directions to the park programmed into his phone. He and Malia make it there with about seven minutes to spare.

Malia kicks her heels off as soon as her feet touch the grass. She had been generally unimpressed with the wedding planning process, and her one insistence had been that the ceremony should be held outdoors.

Scott scours the mass of chairs and bodies for Stiles, and finally sees him ducked behind the bridal arch. By the time Scott makes it to him, he can see that Stiles is biting at the thumbnail of one hand and using the other to drum his fingers against his leg. Stiles glances up and meets Scott’s eyes.

“Stiles, I’m so sorry,” Scott gets out, but Stiles immediately shakes his head.

“I knew you’d make it,” he says, and shoots Scott a grin.

Scott reaches forward to straighten Stiles’ black tie a bit. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles lets out a breath, puffing his cheeks. “Nervous. Excited.”

Scott opens his mouth to reply, but at that moment the officiant walks up to them and smiles. “Are we ready to begin?”

Stiles glances at Scott, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.” He starts to follow the officiant to the other side of the arch, but Scott quickly snags his arm.

“Hey, Luke." 

Stiles tilts his head a little, confused and distracted.

“May the Force be with you.”

It has the intended effect. Stiles bursts into an unexpected laugh, and the nervous tension seems to seep out of his shoulders.

“How many times do I have to tell you, dude? I’m totally the Han Solo.” 

* * *

Scott sits in one of the bow-adorned chairs on the outdoor patio where the reception is being held, his tie loosened around his neck. He’s watching Stiles dance with Malia, and beaming at the way they're absorbed with it, as if no one else was there. His grin abates as he remembers this morning. 

Scott reaches into his blazer pocket and turns the ring back and forth. He and the man from this morning—last night—hadn’t had much time to process anything. They both had to run to separate weddings, as it turned out. Thankfully, perhaps, Malia had been too distracted to notice Scott and Boyd's unspoken realization.

Boyd had opened his mouth to speak. At the same moment, Malia looked up from where she had been tugging uncomfortably at the hem of her dress. She took in the sight of Scott in his suit and said, “Oh good, you’re ready. Let’s go.”

Anxious not to be late, Scott shot Boyd a desperate look and said, “I really, really have to go, but we need to exchange numbers.”

Boyd, seeming to shake himself out of his shocked state, nodded sharply and held out a hand for Scott’s phone. 

“Someone seems broody.”

Scott jumps a bit and glances behind him to see Allison grinning down in his direction. “Is this the part where I tell you that no one could ever replace you in Stiles’ eyes, and you have no reason to be jealous?”

Scott huffs out a laugh and moves his chair slightly to the right, making room for her to sit.

“If I tell you something,” Scott says a little quickly, before he can change his mind, “Can you not tell anyone until Stiles and Malia leave tomorrow?”

At this, Allison’s grin drops. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Scott shakes his head and straightens up a little in his chair, turning his body so it’s angled more towards her. “It’s okay, it’s not that bad. I just—if Stiles found out before they left, it’d ruin the trip.”

Allison looks skeptical, but she nods after a short pause. Scott sighs, and pulls the ring from one of his pockets and a folded sheet of paper from the other.

“Last night I got married.”

Allison stares from the ring in his left palm to the slightly crumpled paper in his right. She reaches forward, grabs at the latter, and unfolds it. Scott knows exactly what she’s looking at, even though he only had a minute this morning for the words to burn themselves into his memory. The title reads, in official scroll, “Certificate of Marriage,” and perfectly legible in two of the paper’s blank spaces are the signatures of Scott McCall and Vernon Boyd IV.

Allison’s eyes widen and she bites at her bottom lip. A stifled silence falls between them, and Scott notices that Allison almost seems to be shaking a bit. At first he attributes it to shock, but then—

Then she bursts into giggles, unable to contain herself, closing her eyes and doubling over. A few people sitting at nearby tables glance in their direction, and Scott hastily shoves the ring back into his pocket.

He can’t help but pout. “It’s _not_ funny.”

“Scott,” Allison is grinning again, this time much more mischievously. “As your ex, I can attest to the fact that this is _hilarious_. Only you would turn what should have been a one-night stand into marrying the guy. It’s just so… classic Scott.”

Scott feels heat rise to his face. “Are you done yet?”

Allison’s eyes are twinkling. “Okay. I’m sorry. You can’t blame me, with the way you looked I thought someone had died. I’m just relieved it isn’t that bad.”

Scott shakes his head and takes the certificate from her, folding it up again. “It is that bad. I don’t know this guy at all. Everything about last night is fuzzy. I can remember it but… it’s all confusing.”

(Scott decides not to share the pretty mortifyingly clear memory of how he acted while he was first hitting on Boyd).

“What—what am I supposed to do? How can I tell Mom?” He realizes, to his embarrassment, that his voice has started to crack a little. Great.

Allison runs a hand back and forth over his shoulder. She glances across the room to where Melissa is taking a drink from the sheriff. “Who says you have to tell her? Scott, come on. You’re not the first person to get drunk and married in Vegas. Granted, most people who do are fictional characters in rom-coms, but—Have you done any research yet?”

Scott’s leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Allison is still giving his shoulder soothing rubs. He looks across the room at Stiles and Malia, who are still dancing, but slower this time. Malia says something and Stiles laughs, bringing her hand up to his mouth to press a brief kiss to her knuckles.

“Research what?” Scott doesn’t bother to look away from them. He finds the sight of them soothing. 

Allison makes a short and very Argent-like _isn’t it obvious_ sound. “Annulment.”

* * *

**The night before the weddings**

Boyd decides, as he downs another drink, that he really loves speakeasies. Possibly, he considers, setting the beer down and only spilling a little bit in the process, it’s because this is the fifth place they’ve been to tonight, and it’s very dark, and he feels very warm.

“I’m glad we came here,” he says to himself. He would say it to someone else, but he’s not sure where exactly the others are right now. Erica, Cora, and Alicia all went to the bathroom at one point earlier in the night. When they came back out, they had declared that combining the bachelor and bachelorette parties had been a _terrible_ idea, and they were ditching the boys to go to a strip club. Liam pouted and Alicia dropped into his lap to kiss him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said loudly. “Tomorrow night I’m gonna give you a _private_ strip club… strip show. You know what I mean.”

That had been the point at which Boyd started to drink in earnest.

Now, Mason and Liam are somewhere on the dance floor and Isaac is chatting up a girl at the bar. Boyd slumps forward to rest his forehead on the table, just for a little bit. He feels kind of weird.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Boyd sighs and lifts himself back into a more or less upright position. Standing in front of the table where Boyd’s sitting is a guy he’s never met before. He’s—he’s _pretty_. He has warm brown eyes and honest to god dimples.

Boyd opens his mouth to comment on this, but instead what he finds himself saying is, “You’re small.”

The guy raises an eyebrow, but he’s still smiling. “Small?”

“Yeah, like… I’m like twice the size of you I bet.”

The guy takes a couple slightly unsteady steps forward and leans down, placing a hand on the table as he gets closer to Boyd. The other hand, Boyd notices, is holding a beer. The closer the guy gets, the more aware Boyd becomes of how hot the room is.

“Well,” the guy says in a low tone, now definitely in Boyd’s personal space. He quirks his lips and looks unblinkingly into Boyd’s eyes. “Maybe we should go back to your place if you’re so eager to compare sizes.”

* * *

When Scott types “Las Vegas Municipal Court” into his phone’s GPS, it feels like a bizarre dream. They’re driving over in Boyd’s rental car, since Stiles and Malia are using Scott’s to get to the airport.

Scott desperately wants to tell Stiles, despite the promise he made Allison give. He knows that Stiles would drop everything to come with Scott if he had any clue about what was going on, but he can’t bring himself to ruin Stiles’ honeymoon before it’s even started. Besides, it’s going to take a while for Scott to figure out how to break it to Stiles that he got married and Stiles wasn’t there. Just the thought of it is depressing. He and Stiles have had dibs on being each others’ best men since they were in kindergarten. If Stiles ever found out he missed Scott’s wedding (even his ridiculous drunken one), he’d be heartbroken.

Boyd sighs. “Are you sure this is going to the right court?”

Scott shakes himself out of his thoughts. He checks the phone as a woman’s voice tells them to take a right.

“Yeah, it’s the right one.”

Boyd doesn’t reply. Scott glances at him properly for the first time since he got in the car. Boyd’s wearing the same suit Scott last saw him in, but his jacket is a little crumpled and his tie is loosened. He keeps fidgeting at the ring, twisting it alternately with his right hand and left thumb.

“Oh,” Scott says. “We should take the rings off before we go in.”

Boyd shoots him a questioning glance.

“I mean, we’re filing for annulment. It’s like, more proof that we don’t want to be married and that it was all an accident.”

Boyd considers for a moment, stilling his hands on the steering wheel. Then he shrugs and twists the ring off, dropping it into his jacket’s inner pocket.

The remainder of the drive is silent, except for the occasional direction by Scott’s phone. Boyd is now drumming his fingers on the wheel in lieu of playing with the ring. At one point, Scott sets his phone on the dashboard to rifle through the forms stacked on his lap. The hotel business center had been an awkward place to fill out the necessary documents, not least because of the number of odd looks people had given their formal wear in the process.

By the time they arrive at the court, it’s a little after four. Scott is worried that the building might be closed, but cars still line the parking lot. When they reach the front of the building, Scott holds the door open for Boyd. Boyd quirks an eyebrow at this, but leads the way in.

The county clerk is a man sitting behind a large mahogany desk, situated in an office on the third floor. He smiles a bit when he takes in Scott and Boyd’s suits. “Ah, marriage license?”

The brief look they exchange between themselves seems to answer his question well enough. He schools his face into a neutral expression. “Oh, divorce then.”

“No,” Boyd says shortly. He sits down in an empty chair, then clarifies, “Annulment.”

Scott shifts the stack of paperwork to his left arm so that he can shake the clerk’s hand. “My name’s Scott McCall, this is Vernon Boyd.”

The man stands up to take Scott’s hand and says, “Alan Deaton. I assume you’ve had your lawyers look over the forms?”

Boyd glances at Scott. “I have a friend in law school. She had a professor look at them, he said everything seemed fine.”

Scott thinks this is a generous summary, since he was privy to Boyd’s side of that conversation, and half of it consisted of him patiently repeating, “ _No_ , Erica… This is why I didn’t tell you until you landed. Just calm down.”

“And you, Mr. McCall?”

Scott looks from Deaton to Boyd and back again. He doesn’t have any friends in law school, and he certainly doesn’t have a lawyer. “It’s okay. I trust Boyd.”

In response to this, both Deaton and Boyd raise their eyebrows simultaneously.

Deaton holds a hand out for the stack of forms and Scott passes it over. The next few minutes are silent as Deaton reads through them carefully. Finally, he sets them down and clears his throat.

“You want to file for a marriage annulment on the grounds of want of understanding?”

“We got married drunk,” Boyd says. “Neither of us could consent.”

Deaton takes this in stride, even though Scott wouldn’t really blame him for bursting into laughter. “How did you get a license?”

Scott leans forward. “We took a cab to the Marriage Bureau. We just needed, like, IDs and stuff. There was this woman there and she did it all for us.”

For whatever reason, this makes Deaton’s eyes twinkle a bit in amusement. “I’m sure she did. And you want an annulment, not a divorce? On average, the divorce takes less time.”

“We want it gone,” Boyd says firmly. Then he glances at Scott, as if to confirm with him. Scott nods.

Deaton straightens the stack of forms in front of him. “Ordinarily, the process takes anywhere from nine to eighteen months. But you boys are very lucky you’re in Las Vegas.”

Scott releases a sigh of relief and Boyd’s shoulders loosen. “How long will it take then?”

“Four weeks or so,” Deaton says cheerfully.

* * *

**The night before the weddings**

Boyd is frozen. He doesn’t even remember the last time anybody came on to him this hard. People always seem to assume either that he’s the one who usually initiates flirting, or that he’s more likely to punch someone than to let them pick him up. The reality is that, on the rare occasion when Boyd manages to get up the courage to approach someone, he always seems to mumble, get embarrassed, and then promptly leave.

The guy is still in Boyd’s face, and Boyd suddenly becomes conscious of the fact that his mouth is hanging open just the slightest bit. He quickly closes it, but the guy definitely noticed, because he gives Boyd a vaguely self-satisfied smile half a second later. Before Boyd can muster a response, the guy straightens back up again.

“My name’s Scott. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yeah.” Boyd pushes himself up to stand. “Boyd.”

“Boyd?” Scott asks, and he starts to lead the way to the bar. Boyd nods at Isaac as they pass him, and Isaac looks pointedly from Scott to Boyd before winking.

“Last name.”

“Two more, please,” Scott says loudly, leaning over the bar to be heard by the woman behind it. He turns around as soon as she nods. “Then what’s your first name?”

“Nothing I share with guys I just met,” Boyd says pointedly. He kind of expects Scott to get offended—most people who’ve been on the receiving end of one of Boyd’s patented glares do—but instead he just laughs.

“Okay,” Scott says easily. He’s looking up at Boyd with his chin tilted just a bit, and he’s resting his elbows on the bar behind him. The position makes his already tight, dark green shirt stretch out further over his chest. Everything about his pose looks like it’s supposed to be differential, emphasizing Scott’s shorter stature, but Boyd’s the one who feels taken off guard.

* * *

Boyd tries to reason with Deaton, asking him how the drunk marriage capital of the world could possibly take an entire month to process an annulment. Scott tries to make it clear that it isn’t possible for them both to stay in Nevada for a month when they live and work in northern California (in the same city, no less, as they’d discovered while filling out the documents). Boyd gets annoyed and snappishly asks if there are any other places they can get it processed. And finally, Scott uses the saddest, widest eyes Boyd has ever seen while asking if there is _any_ possible way the process could be expedited.

“Gentlemen,” Deaton says, “There’s no reason why you can’t both go home while the annulment is processed. Even if we need additional signatures from either one of you, they can be faxed easily enough.”

“Oh.” Scott turns to Boyd, who shrugs a shoulder. “Okay.”

“You’ll be notified by email of the decision.” Deaton busies himself with filing the forms away behind his desk. “Have a nice day.”

The drive back to the hotels feels shorter somehow. It goes by so quickly that Boyd doesn’t have time to figure out what he wants to say, or if he should say anything at all. Ordinarily Boyd is happy to sit in silence, but somehow this one makes him nervous. By the time he pulls into the parking lot of Scott’s hotel, he’s got something like a stomach ache and he has no idea why.

“Well,” Scott says. “Thanks, I guess. And I’m, uh…” He chuckles. “I’m sorry about all this. But I’m glad we can get it fixed pretty easily.”

“Me too.” Boyd absently runs his palms over his thighs. “Yeah, thanks for not, like, trying to take all my cash in a divorce settlement or something.”

Scott bursts into laughter. “I’m sorry,” he says, trying and failing to make a serious expression. “But if this is your way of saying you’re secretly super rich, the annulment is off and I’m definitely coming after all of your money.”

Boyd finds himself grinning, taken aback at the way Scott’s cheeks dimple.

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” Boyd says, and immediately wants to hit himself because of the way his words make Scott’s smile abate just a little bit.

“Yeah. I mean, what are the odds we’d both be from Beacon Hills? _And_ run into each other in Vegas?” Scott shrugs. “Maybe we’ll see each other around town once we get back home.”

* * *

Scott is _everywhere_.

He’s carrying a stack of biology textbooks from his car to the high school where Boyd is recruiting. (Scott awkwardly raises a hand to wave and then drops the books all over the ground). He’s carefully weighing two different mangos in the grocery store. (He looks up and sends Boyd a bright grin). He’s in front of Boyd in the line at the bank. (He glances behind him and his eyes light up).

Boyd has never hated living in a town the size of Beacon Hills as much as he does lately.

The worst thing is the way his heart starts pounding expectantly when Scott inevitably comes into view. No, the very worst is probably when his mouth goes dry and his palms start to sweat. Actually, worst of all is that he can never get so much as a word out, no matter how many times he sees Scott. All Boyd can bring himself to do is nod, tight-lipped, and promptly turn in the opposite direction to walk away.

“What are the odds,” he groans, keying his door open with one hand while he holds his phone to his ear with the other, “That you could marry someone drunk in Las Vegas and they’d be from your same northern California town and you’d be recruiting at the high school where they teach?”

“Pretty bad odds, V.” Alicia doesn’t sound as concerned about it as she could. In fact, she sounds like she might be biting back a grin.

“I mean,” Boyd drops his keys onto the counter and drops face-first onto the couch, “It’d be fine if he wasn’t all of a sudden everywhere.”

“Maybe it’s—Liam, _stop_ ,” she giggles, and Boyd rolls his eyes. Two weeks after the honeymoon, he thought that Alicia and Liam wouldn’t be quite as bad as they had been pre-wedding. He had clearly been wrong.

“I’m trying to talk to my br— _Liam_!”

Boyd huffs. “Do you want me to—”

“No, it’s fine,” Alicia says. “And get your judgmental mind out of the gutter, he was just trying to steal some of the cookies I bought.”

“That’s a euphemism,” Liam shouts, and Boyd buries his face into a cushion in disbelief.

“Anyway, what I was trying to say is that maybe you keep running into him because he’s trying to ask you out or get you to ask him out or something. I mean, he did marry you, so clearly he’s into you.”

Boyd lifts his head an inch from the couch to speak directly into the receiver. “He married me when he was so drunk that he answered an insult about his height with a pick-up line. He would’ve married a fucking… werewolf or something.”

“All I’m saying is…” Alicia’s using the voice that she uses when she hasn’t been listening to a word that Boyd has said. “You call me after we get back to L.A. You tell me that when we were in Vegas, you married the guy you slept with before the wedding. You tell me it’s fine and it’s being taken care of. And then you tell me that this guy’s from Beacon Hills and that you’ve seen him around before. And _now_ you’re telling me that you _keep_ seeing him around because he just _happens_ to keep bumping into you.”

Boyd, having learned over the years to tell when a good Alicia rant is coming on, dropped his face back into the couch cushion before she started talking. Now he sighs. “You’re right, Alicia.”

“And also you—what?”

Boyd raises his head again. “You’re right. Only it’s me doing it, not him. He doesn’t—” He can’t bring himself to actually say anything more than that out loud, whether out of embarrassment or genuine denial he isn’t sure.

“What? What are you even talking about? He doesn’t what?”

Boyd smiles a little bit to himself. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’ve gotta go.”

“Vernon—”

“Say hi to Liam for me. Love you.”

“Ugh,” she groans. Then she gets out all at once, “Whatever, love you too, this isn’t over, I—”

Boyd hangs up, but smiles as he drops his face back into the cushion.

* * *

Two more weeks go by before Boyd is forced to have an actual conversation with Scott. Two weeks’ worth of improbable run-ins and awkward nods (on Boyd’s part at least).

It’s made worse by the fact that there will be no escaping their proximity anytime soon. Boyd has been informed by his boss that they’re to continue recruiting in the high school until summer break. He shouldn’t have been as unpleasantly surprised as he was. It’s usual procedure for the Beacon Hills Air Force branch to keep recruiters stationed throughout spring semester. This is the best time to get more interactions with the graduating seniors and their parents. Boyd won’t be leaving Beacon Hills (or BHHS) for several more months.

He doesn’t usually mind the recruiting. It doesn’t even require as much interpersonal work as he’d originally thought it would. Mostly he just tells kids that they can get a free lanyard and water bottle if they do a couple hundred push-ups. He’s primarily stationed at a table in the school cafeteria during the lunch periods.

Occasionally he’ll see Scott pass by, probably on his way to the teacher’s lounge or something. He always tries and fails to look away before Scott can make eye contact with him. Scott, used to their usual interactions by now, will quirk an amused smile in his direction and wave. Boyd will nod and busy himself with straightening the fliers in front of him.

Today there are two senior girls competing with each other to try to beat the push-up record. It’s very clearly not for Boyd’s benefit or for the sake of the lanyard/water bottle combination prize. They keep looking up and into one another’s eyes, both sets of which are gleaming with competition and something else that Boyd probably doesn’t want to think about. At one point he coughs uncomfortably as a reminder of the fact that he’s there, and one of them glances up at him.

“I’m Catherine by the way,” she says casually. Then a wicked grin overtakes her face. She nods at her—competitor? Friend? “That’s Sammi. She’d tell you herself but it’s pretty hard for her to talk while she’s doing this. Doesn’t have the natural talent for it, needs to save her breath… you know.”

On cue, Sammi looks up and glowers. “Shut up, _Kitty_.”

Catherine flushes but looks pleased with herself for having gotten Sammi’s attention. Boyd finds himself thinking longingly of third wheeling with Alicia and Liam, during which at least everyone knows where they stand.

“Hey Mr. McCall!” Catherine calls out, looking over Boyd’s shoulder. “I’m about to beat Sammi for the record.”

Boyd only has a moment to process this before he feels Scott walk from behind him to his left side. He glances over and finds Scott already smiling at him, the bright sincerity of his expression disconcertingly close.

“I don’t know, Catherine, Sammi looks like she’s giving you a run for your money,” Scott says. He doesn’t look away from Boyd. “Hey.”

Boyd opens his mouth, trying to force himself to get something out—anything, just a simple hi, this shouldn’t be so difficult—when a shrill bell rings directly over his head. Catherine and Sammi groan and push themselves to stand, collecting their backpacks quickly.

“We have class,” Catherine explains. “But we won, right?”

Boyd nods quickly, tearing his eyes away from Scott to offer them their prizes. Catherine takes both lanyards, and Sammi looks like she’s about to complain.

But then Catherine places one of them over Sammi’s head for her. She reaches around Sammi’s neck to sweep her long black hair out from under it. “Not bad, Sammi," she murmurs. "You almost beat me that time.”

Sammi blinks slowly for a few moments before she seems to come back to the present. Her dark skin doesn’t flush the same color as Catherine’s did, but she looks vaguely embarrassed.

“Shut _up_ , Kitty,” she finally mutters, but reaches for the other girl’s wrist and gently tugs her away.

Boyd glances at Scott, who has a bemused but fond expression on his face.

“Some days I feel like I’m submerged in, like, an _ocean_ of teenage hormones,” Scott says quietly. Boyd can’t suppress a snort at that.

Scott grins and then lifts several Subway bags into Boyd’s view. “I brought lunch.”

Boyd blinks in surprise. Before he can (try to) say anything, Scott is talking again.

“I noticed that you always have your shifts during the lunch periods, which makes sense, but then I wondered how you eat lunch? Or when you eat it?” Scott looks inexplicably and rather overly concerned. “And I happened to talk to Isaac about it and he said that you guys have to wake up really early to do other work things in the mornings, so you might not get to eat lunch until super late. And he also said that sometimes he thought you _skipped_ lunch, which is super bad to be honest, you should never skip a meal.” Scott’s brows are furrowed and he’s frowning. If Boyd wasn’t squirming under the feeling of Scott’s disappointment, he’d be scoffing at the notion of Scott adopting a chastising tone. “But anyway, I brought some lunch so you could eat.”

“Well… thanks,” Boyd finds himself saying, and before he can register the fact that he _finally_ managed to speak again, Scott’s beaming and emptying the bags on Boyd’s table.

“I wasn’t sure what you like,” Scott says, laying five sandwiches side by side, “So I got a veggie, a turkey, a chicken, a ham, and a meatball.”

“Oh. You didn’t have to do that.” Boyd pulls an extra chair from one of the cafeteria tables so that Scott has somewhere to sit, then grabs his wallet out of his back pocket.

Scott glances up when Boyd slides him a twenty and a ten across the table.

“Thanks again,” Boyd clarifies, and reaches for the turkey.

“No, no, no,” Scott says quickly, and pushes the money back at him. “It’s on me.”

Boyd frowns and pushes it back. “I can pay for my own lunch."  **  
**

Scott huffs and glares at Boyd with sudden and undeniable authority. “I know you can. Keep the money.”

There’s a long, tense moment during which they seem to have an unofficial staring contest. Boyd finds himself glancing down to blink, and when he looks up again Scott is smugly biting into the ham.

Boyd is about ready to do something dramatic like crumple the bills up and throw them at Scott’s face, because he’s damned if he’s going to be out-stubborned by a high school biology teacher. Before he can, though, Scott quietly but clearly asks, “Can’t a guy buy lunch for his husband?”

Boyd hates how easily Scott did that. With one little sentence he’s changed Boyd’s iron resolve into flustered confusion. Before Boyd knows what he’s doing, he’s shoving the bills back into his pocket just to have some way to avoid looking into Scott’s deep brown eyes.

“Fine,” Boyd says, unwilling to let Scott have the last word. Scott’s giving him an indulgent look that would be insulting if it wasn’t so pleased. “But next time I’m buying." 

* * *

It starts to become regular. Every day, one of them will bring food and they’ll eat it after the last lunch period has ended. Boyd finds out that Scott has his fourth period free.

“Don’t you need it for planning, though?” Boyd asks one day, and Scott shrugs before sheepishly mumbling that he doesn’t mind coming in earlier or leaving later so that he can eat with Boyd. Boyd doesn’t know what to say to that.

Except for that comment that Scott made on the first day, they don’t talk about the marriage or the annulment. They mostly talk about their jobs, and about the high school.

It feels like forever since Boyd was a student here. He and Scott went to all of the same schools in Beacon Hills, but were two years apart and didn’t interact much. Boyd asks Scott about the teachers he had when he went through here. They discover that they both shared a strong dislike of Mr. Harris, who thankfully retired before Scott interviewed for his job. (Scott laughs. “I’m pretty sure if he hadn’t retired by then, me working here would’ve pushed him over the edge into leaving for good.”)

Both Boyd and Scott played lacrosse, but Scott’s asthma meant he never got onto the varsity team. (“Don’t worry about it,” Boyd says, and steals a fry from Scott’s bag. “I watched one of your games. Finstock yelled just as much at JV, you weren’t missing anything.”)

It’s really… nice. For someone who couldn’t bring himself to speak to Scott at all for the first two weeks that they were back in Beacon Hills, Boyd feels like he’s doing pretty well. 

But doing well at what, he’s not sure. Being social? Being friends? Managing to hide the feelings he gets around Scott that remind him a little too much of the palpable tension between Catherine and Sammi? Managing to firmly do a mental about-face anytime he comes a little too close to inspecting those feelings?

“Who cares what it is?” Isaac says, one week into Scott and Boyd’s new lunch arrangement. They’re packing a supply truck together on base. It would be going a lot faster if Isaac didn’t stop once every minute to complain about the heat. “It’s just a little fun, don’t overanalyze it.”

Boyd rolls his eyes as he heaves the last box in. “It’s not overanalyzing if I end up accidentally dating my…” He trails off and sighs. Isaac grins from where he’s now leaning against the truck’s shaded side.

“Your hubby?”

“Not for long,” Boyd says sharply, and slams the truck door down.

* * *

It’s a Thursday afternoon when Scott puts two thermoses of soup onto Boyd’s table, sits down in his usual place, and says, “Hey, do you want to come to a movie tonight?”

Boyd feels a kind of shock of adrenaline run through him, which is utterly ridiculous since he’s had military training, and therefore been in situations that _actually_ require adrenaline.

“It’s just—” Scott says quickly, tugging at his tie. Boyd usually tries not to let himself think about the outfits that Scott wears to school. But Scott can’t just tug at his precociously professional, unmistakably young-teacher-ish outfit and expect Boyd to be able to ignore it. Today Scott’s wearing one of his customary white button-downs, tucked into a pair of black slacks. The tie he’s fidgeting at is an attractive dark red that compliments his skin color, and—

“It’s just—It’s _Hawkgirl_ ,” Scott gets out. Boyd is abruptly pulled from his thoughts. “I’m going to see _Hawkgirl_ with Stiles and Malia but, I’d really rather not third wheel, you know? And I remembered we were talking about the Justice League the other day and you said you were excited about the new series, right? So I thought maybe we could go together if you want. As a group.”

“Oh,” Boyd nods. “I mean… yeah. That sounds good. As a group.”

Scott exhales deeply. “Exactly.”

* * *

Scott, looking helplessly at the contents of his closet, which are now strewn across the floor of his bedroom, admits defeat.

“Stiles,” he moans into the phone. “Help.”

Stiles sounds unfairly amused as he innocently replies, “But Scotty, I thought you said this was _definitely not_ a double date. Why would you need _help_?”

Scott groans even louder this time, and Stiles bursts into laughter. “Okay, we’re coming over.”

* * *

Boyd should have dressed up more. Granted, Malia is wearing shorts and a gray blouse, relatively similar to the plain jeans and green t-shirt that Boyd has on. But Stiles is wearing a blazer over his shirt, and Scott—

Scott looks amazing. He’s wearing jeans so dark they might be black, and a tight black cardigan over an even tighter red shirt. Boyd finds himself taking Scott in for a good half a minute, and is embarrassed to be called out on it when Malia says, “See, Scott, I told you he’d like it. Kira say Stiles is getting really good at this stuff.”

Boyd automatically glances at Scott to see how bad the reaction is, but Scott doesn’t look angry or even surprised. He hasn’t even seemed to notice that Malia spoke, because he’s staring pretty openly at Boyd. Boyd glances down self-consciously, wondering if he somehow got food on the shirt.

“You look great.” Scott steps closer to Boyd, so that he’s only a foot or so in front of him. It means that Scott has to look up more, tilting his head back a little bit to smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah,” Boyd says, and feels a little short of breath. “You look great too.”

“Wow,” Stiles’ voice cuts in, undeniably sarcastic and amused. “Glad we decided to do this group outing. Complimenting each other on how we look is definitely a friends thing.”

“I’ve got the tickets on me,” Scott says quickly, and leads the way to the box office.

* * *

It’s hard to focus on the movie. Boyd is sitting to Scott’s left. Scott doesn’t know what to do with his arm, so he keeps his elbows tucked in and his hands in his lap. He feels hyper aware of his own breath and of every small movement that Boyd makes. He should have bought candy. All he got was popcorn and drinks. Boyd is holding the popcorn in his lap, because Malia is sitting on his other side and she wants easy access to it.

Gradually, Scott’s able to relax a little more. He even reaches over to grab a handful of popcorn during one of the action scenes. Boyd doesn’t seem to notice, and Scott feels himself losing his tenseness.

It returns in full force when Hawkgirl and Green Lantern start having sex. It’s pretty tame, nothing that would threaten the movie’s PG-13 rating, but Scott becomes all the more aware of how close he and Boyd are sitting. He realizes that Boyd’s knee is very lightly brushing his own.

Scott’s hit with the vivid memory of Boyd laid out below him, stripped and panting and wide-eyed. He remembers sliding Boyd’s boxers under his lifted hips and down his toned legs. He remembers—

Boyd shifts, lifting his knee away from Scott’s. The screen fades to black and Scott, grateful for the dark, quickly adjusts his jeans.

* * *

“That was good,” Malia nods approvingly. “I liked the mace.”

Stiles slides an arm around her waist and adds, “The wings! Super cool.”

“Yeah,” Boyd says, and drops the popcorn bag into a trash can. “What’d you think, Scott?”

Scott has seemed uncomfortable since they left the theater, or distracted at the very least.

“Loved it. It was awesome.” Scott manages a smile.

“Well,” Stiles says, checking his phone for the time. “I’d say we should go to a bar, but given last time, I don’t even know _what_ you two’d do to each other if we got you drunk again.” He shoots Boyd and Scott an exaggerated wink.

Before Boyd can come up with some sort of reply, Scott is talking.

“That’s a good idea, Stiles,” he says seriously. “Tomorrow’s an inservice day anyway, no reason not to have some fun tonight. Boyd, are you up for it?”

Boyd can’t disguise his surprise. For all that Scott seemed withdrawn and distracted just a minute ago, now he has a determined gleam in his eye that reminds Boyd a little too forcefully of the last night they both got drunk.

It’s this, if nothing else, that should have Boyd saying no. Never mind that he _does_ have work early tomorrow. Never mind that Malia is leaning her head on Stiles’ shoulder in a way that indicates that they both might bail out of drinks early. And never mind that for all this was meant to be a group thing, it’s feeling increasingly like a double date. Even discounting all of those factors, the fact that Scott is looking at Boyd with the same expression he was wearing that night should have Boyd turning around and walking in the opposite direction.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

* * *

Boyd is nursing his second beer, and very pointedly pacing himself, when someone’s breath tickles his ear.

“Thanks for coming out,” Scott says, leaning into Boyd’s space openly. Boyd has been sitting at the bar and waiting on Scott to come back from the bathroom.

Unsurprisingly, Stiles and Malia left after a drink each. Stiles had clapped Scott on the back and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. Malia turned to Boyd and simply said, “Scott’s very sensitive. You probably shouldn’t have sex again unless you want to stay married.”

Boyd choked on his beer and nearly spat it all over the table. When he finally coughed enough to speak, he replied, “Thanks, Malia.”

Now he finds himself wondering what exactly he’s actually doing here, and regretting having given into the impulse to come in the first place. Because Malia’s right. Given the circumstances, another one night stand is probably the last thing they need, not least because Boyd is starting to come to terms with the fact that he really likes Scott. He wants them to be friends if not something else.

Scott is basically draped over the back of Boyd’s chair at this point, resting his chin lightly on Boyd’s right shoulder. Scott smells like dry erase marker and the bittersweet liquor he’s been drinking.

“Are you feeling okay, Scott?” Boyd asks, turning his head only slightly. Any more and they’d be nose to nose, and that’s a bad idea for a lot of reasons.

“I’m feeling hot.” Scott suddenly stands up straight. Boyd turns a little in his chair and Scott is fumbling at the buttons of his cardigan. Less than five seconds later, he gives up and starts peeling it off and over his shoulders. Boyd would laugh at the careless, almost childish way that Scott tugs at the fabric, but as Scott lifts his arms, his shirt rises too. A sliver of his stomach comes into view, and Boyd is forcibly reminded of what exactly Scott looks like underneath his clothes.

“I think it’s time for us to get that cab,” Boyd decides, and stands as abruptly as Scott did. Scott, having finally extracted himself from his cardigan, gives Boyd a slightly confused look.

He isn’t as bad off as Boyd first thought, he realizes, looking into Scott’s surprisingly clear eyes. Still. Boyd really does have work early in the morning and he wants this relationship—whatever it is or might be—to remain more or less intact. He feels buzzed enough to want to pat himself on the back for the foresight and maturity. Boyd pays their bill and lightly grips Scott’s elbow as he walks them through the bar and to the street outside.

Once the car starts up, and Scott's given his address to the driver, he sighs and leans back.

“I’m glad you came out with us tonight.”

“Me too.” Boyd glances over at Scott. He can’t keep a fond, small smile from coming over his face when Scott turns his head and opens his eyes. 

“God,” Scott breathes, and Boyd realizes that they’re somehow even closer than they were in the bar. “You’re so beautiful."

Boyd finds himself speechless, wants to snort or raise an incredulous eyebrow or something, but just… can’t.

Scott reaches forward and slides a thumb over Boyd’s lips. Boyd feels paralyzed.

“Remember that other night?” Scott asks absently. “You looked so perfect. So hot. Still can't believe you’re so beautiful. You-”

Boyd cuts him off, pressing their lips together firmly. Scott’s warm and soft, pliant in surprise at first. But then he leans forward, presses back. Scott tilts his jaw slightly and their mouths are open, and Boyd feels helpless to stop. He grips Scott’s shoulders like he’s afraid he’s going to slip out of his hold. Scott keeps deepening the kiss, and it’s getting to be too much. Boyd feels lightheaded and numb and electrified all at once. Scott’s hand falls to Boyd’s thigh and squeezes, and—

“That’s ten ninety-six.”

Suddenly, it’s all over. They’re pulling apart and looking in surprise at the outside of Scott’s apartment. The driver is eyeing them through her rearview mirror. It’s enough to break Boyd out of the spell he was under, and he straightens up. Unable or unwilling to look at Scott, he glances at the driver and then busies himself with pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“I’ve got it,” Boyd finally says. Scott straightens up as well. He looks confused and vaguely unhappy when Boyd spares him a brief glance.

“No,” Scott says quickly, “I’ve got it.” And somehow, he hands a card to the driver before Boyd can argue. They sit in silence for a minute while she processes the payment. Boyd feels his gaze tear back and forth between Scott and anywhere-but-Scott.

Finally, the driver hands Scott’s card back and he absently signs a receipt. Boyd reaches out to touch Scott’s wrist before he can get to the door handle.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Boyd asks. Usually he would be embarrassed about the note of desperation in his voice. He feels consumed by this sudden worry that he won’t see Scott before the weekend starts, and that that will somehow ruin everything. “I know you have inservice, but… I could still bring lunch.”

Scott stares at him for a moment, his lips bright and his eyes foggier than they were in the bar. Then a soft smile spreads over his face. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Scott gets out, closes the car door, and mounts the stairs to his apartment, he looks back at Boyd three different times. 

* * *

Scott wakes up the next morning feeling fuzzy, but vaguely good. Boyd is coming for lunch today, and not because he’ll already be at the school. There won’t be any kids there, but Boyd will still come, just to see Scott. That, coupled with the memory of Boyd’s dark eyes burning in the back of the cab last night, means that Scott’s feeling pretty good this morning.

All of Scott’s content dissipates, though, when he checks his email. There, at the top of his inbox, is Alan Deaton’s name in bold. It’s preceded by the subject line “Las Vegas Municipal Case A723-M.”

* * *

Boyd checks his phone for the fourth time in the past two minutes. He’s at their usual table in the lunchroom with a Chipotle bag in front of him. Scott is—Boyd glances down one more time—six minutes late.

It’s not a big deal, right? He’s probably being held up by one of the vice principals or his teacher friend Allison or something like that.

Unless Scott’s angry about last night. Or embarrassed. Boyd isn’t sure which would be worse.

Just as Boyd’s deciding that he’ll wait four more minutes before he does something drastic (like leave the school and never come back again), Scott enters the empty lunchroom and starts to walk his way.

Boyd’s relief on seeing Scott is short-lived, since Scott has a serious and almost detached expression on his face. It’s so unlike his usual demeanor that Boyd starts to worry all over again that last night was a huge mistake. Maybe Scott has decided they shouldn’t be in each other’s presence at all anymore.

Boyd’s grateful that basic training at least taught him how to maintain a stoic expression regardless of what he’s thinking. He glances up once Scott sits in front of him.

“So we need to go back to Las Vegas,” Scott says in a rush.

Boyd blinks.

“They’re done with the paperwork, but we both need to testify confirmation that we want the annulment.”

Right. The annulment. The marriage.

“I was thinking…” Scott continues on. Boyd forces himself to focus. “Maybe we could fly down together. I mean, since we both have to do it anyway. Might as well just… do it together.”

Boyd honestly doesn’t know what to say. It's hard to catalogue the different feelings he’s having right now. Frustration with Scott for ignoring the fact that they had a drunken encounter ( _again_ ). Embarrassment at the realization that between maybe-dating and making out with Scott, he managed to forget that they were married. Hope at Scott’s implication that he sees them as being on the same team, even if it’s only by virtue of the fact that neither of them wants to be married.

“Boyd?” Scott’s asking, and Boyd comes back to himself. Scott looks—he looks frankly terrified. “You… you do still want this, right?”

The words are like ice water being poured down Boyd’s back. He does want the annulment, of course he does. But Scott’s undisguised horror at the prospect of Boyd trying to keep them married makes Boyd quash any hope he had about them becoming more than friends. He should never have let a sloppy kiss in the back of a cab make him think this was going somewhere that it clearly wasn’t. He and Scott have chemistry, sure. They’re attracted to each other, obviously. But everything beyond that—everything that happened from the moment they met in that bar to the present—was nothing more than an overactive imagination on Boyd’s part and a drunken mishap on Scott’s.

Scott is looking at Boyd, clearly on the verge of panic. Boyd can hear the way Scott’s breathing is shallowing. He realizes that he’d better say something, unless he wants to add an asthma attack to the list of things that have gone wrong with this day.

“Of course I do,” Boyd says in an impersonal clip. “We need to get this finished. But we shouldn’t fly down together.”

Scott, who breathed an unmistakable sigh of relief at Boyd’s first words, frowns at the latter. “Why not?”

Boyd shrugs. “It’s like you said when we first went to file the paperwork. Can’t wear the rings if we want to convince them.” Before Scott can reply, Boyd pulls his burrito out of the bag in front of him and stands up. “I’m busy with work on the base today. I’ll see you later.”

Boyd doesn’t look back as he leaves, afraid of everything he will and won’t see on Scott’s face.

* * *

**The night before the weddings**

“God,” Boyd pants. He’s never gotten a blowjob in a public bathroom before. Somehow he always thought it would feel a little more depressing, but right now he feels… hot. Horny. And also, he realizes, as he glances over to the sink where Scott’s washing his hands, strangely fond.

“You were really good,” he says. His words slur into one another just a little bit.

Scott shoots him a sweet smile that makes him almost unrecognizable as the guy who so shamelessly hit on Boyd less than half an hour ago. “Thanks, babe. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

“I should…” Boyd starts, and he’s thinking about the wedding tomorrow for some reason. He keeps thinking about all of Alicia and Erica and Isaac’s teasing, and he thinks… why not? “I should tie you down.”

Scott raises an eyebrow at this and tugs a couple of paper towels from the dispenser. “Somebody’s feeling adventurous.”

“No,” Boyd says, though a shot of heat runs through him at the thought of Scott’s muscled arms straining against a pair of handcuffs. _Focus, Boyd_. “I mean, I should keep you. You’re good, and I… ought to tie somebody down. Everybody keeps saying it.” Boyd realizes he’s still leaning against the wall where Scott shoved him when they first came in. He tries to push himself to stand straight, but his legs feel like they’ll slip and slide under him if he tries.

Scott is looking at him, and the playful twinkle in his eyes has been replaced by something more thoughtful. That’s one more reason Boyd should marry him; anyone who can still look thoughtful when he’s more than five drinks in has to be a keeper, right?

“That’s what everybody keeps saying to me too,” Scott muses. “Got to find… Mr. Right. Mrs. Right. Somebody Right.”

“Captain Right,” Boyd says, and giggles. Some part of him registers that he has to be more far gone than he realizes if he’s giggling.

Scott’s eyes widen and he walks forward, getting back into Boyd’s space. Up close, Boyd can see that his eyes are a little glazed, but he’s grinning brightly.

“Are you telling me that you're a _captain_?”

Boyd shrugs. “Technically. If it was wartime or if I was stationed abroad, I—”

Scott shushes Boyd by placing a hand over his open mouth. “Basically,” he grins, “I’m marrying a captain. Like I’m the plucky heroine of a Jane Austen book.”

* * *

Scott hasn’t seen Boyd for two weeks and three days. They flew to Las Vegas on different flights. Now they’re about to be in the same room together. Granted, the same courtroom, but still.

“Scotty,” Stiles soothes, and rubs his shoulders from behind. “Everything is _fine_. You’re gonna go in there and not even worry about anybody else. You’re just gonna say what we practiced, okay?”

Scott nods. There’s some sort of awful appropriateness to the fact that the suit he's wearing is the same one he wore when he and Boyd first entered this courthouse.

“Just like we practiced,” Scott sighs, and wonders if he’s about to make an even bigger mess out of this situation.

* * *

Boyd walks into the courtroom and imagines that this is what a VIP must feel like all the time. He’s completely surrounded by a protective barrier of bodies. Alicia insisted on coming with him for emotional support, and where Alicia went, Liam followed. When Erica and Isaac found out, they decided that they were coming too.

Now Boyd not only has to deal with his ratcheting anxiety over the prospect of seeing Scott again, but he also has to try to stave off the concern of his unwanted entourage.

He catches sight of Scott and Stiles taking seats nearby. At least, he considers miserably, this will all be over soon.

* * *

When Deaton calls out the name of their case, Scott automatically begins to rise. Deaton glances up at him for a moment, then says, “We’ll begin with the Marriage Bureau’s Office. Then you can give your testimonies.”

A slender woman with light brown skin makes her way to the front of the room. Scott doesn’t recognize her until he gets a clear view of her face.

“You married Scott McCall and Vernon Boyd?” Deaton asks.

“Yes,” Morrell says. Scott knows her name because he remembers staring at it in shock when he first found the marriage certificate. Marin Morrell had been the name neatly signed on one of the certificate’s blanks, over the title of “officiant.” The night that they got married, Scott seems to remember her smiling rather mischievously at him. Standing here today, she looks bored.

Deaton himself also seems to be going through the motions. Scott wonders how many of these procedures they’ve both overseen. “And were Mr. McCall and Mr. Boyd visibly intoxicated when you agreed to marry them?”

Scott has a vivid flashback to having literally gripped Boyd’s arm in order to stay on his feet during the ceremony.

“I really couldn’t say.”

Boyd makes a barely audible scoff. Morrell arches an eyebrow in his direction.

Deaton doesn’t seem surprised by Morrell’s answer. In fact, if anything he looks a little amused. “Thank you, Ms. Morrell.”

As Morrell leaves the room, she spares a last glance in Scott’s direction and winks at him. Scott can’t be bothered to try to figure that out, though. He’s too busy having heart palpitations thinking about what’s about to happen.

“Mr. McCall,” Deaton says, “Please give us your testimony.”

Scott forces himself to take a deep breath. Then he stands.

* * *

“Boyd and I got married when we were heavily intoxicated.” Scott’s voice is steady and intentional. Boyd wonders if Scott’s nervous. “Getting married to one another, while we were under the influence and on the night that we first met, was nothing more than an irresponsible mistake.”

Boyd manages not to flinch. He’s annoyed with himself for even having been affected that much. He knew what he was going to hear today.

“One mistake shouldn’t determine the rest of our lives.” Scott is speaking loud and clear, and his voice echoes just a little bit in the big room. “A divorce is just as permanent as a marriage would be, and that’s why we’re filing for an annulment. We deserve to be given a clean slate. This marriage was never real. We want it delegitimized.”

Boyd feels a soft pressure. Alicia has placed her hands over his, and Boyd realizes that his own hands are clenched tightly into fists on his lap. He glances at Alicia and she mouths, “You okay?”

Boyd nods imperceptibly. He’s okay. He’s just an idiot for having deluded himself into believing something that was clearly never true.

Scott has paused in his speech, and Deaton coughs. “Is that all, Mr. McCall?”

“No,” Scott says, more softly this time. “There’s one last thing.”

Deaton gives him an expectant look. Over Scott’s shoulder, Boyd can see that Stiles is biting his lip. Scott himself looks a little pale.

“I regret having married Boyd.”

God, _really_? Hasn’t he made his point?

“I regret having married Boyd under these circumstances, because I want to marry him properly someday.”

From behind him, Boyd can hear Erica and Isaac start to furiously whisper. To his right, Alicia and Liam breathe out twin sighs of relief.

For Boyd’s part, he’s not sure that he heard Scott correctly. Scott continues talking. **  
**

“I regret not giving Boyd the wedding and the marriage that he deserves. When I married Boyd, all I knew was that he was an attractive stranger and, frankly, that he was good in bed.” (Alicia titters in mock disapproval). “But Boyd is one of the smartest and kindest people I’ve ever met. He’s just… he’s just good.” Scott is staring a hole into Deaton’s desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. “So that’s why I’m asking you to grant us an annulment. Because I want the chance to do this right.”

Scott sits down and Stiles immediately starts massaging his shoulders, whispering encouragement in his ear. Boyd feels like he’s in shock, but he can’t focus on that right now. Deaton is turning to him.

“Mr. Boyd, do you share Mr. McCall’s sentiments, or would you like to make a separate testimony?"

Boyd looks from Deaton to Scott and back again. Scott is still avoiding his gaze, now staring at his own lap. Part of Boyd is annoyed by this, but most of him is starting to process Scott’s speech.

Alicia grips his hands again. He turns to look at her. She’s wearing a serious expression when she says quietly, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Boyd finds himself smiling. “It’s fine, Alicia.” He gently pulls his hands out of her own and stands up. Scott finally meets his eyes. Boyd doesn’t look away from him as he says, “Yes. I’ll share his testimony.”

Deaton uncaps his pen and signs a document in front of him. “In that case, I declare this marriage annulled.”

Boyd doesn’t bother with starting to pack up his paperwork. He immediately walks to where Scott is sitting and says, “I think you owe me a lunch.”

Scott beams.

* * *

**Three years later**

“You’re telling me the Catholic Church recognizes gay marriage but they still aren’t willing to cut the service down to two and a half hours?” Isaac groans.

“Oh my _god_ , would you get over it?” Erica is checking her makeup in a pocket mirror.

Boyd rolls his eyes, but even this can’t distract him from the fact that he’s about to walk down a church aisle. Everyone else in the room seems to be able to sense it, because Alicia walks up behind him and gives his shoulder a squeeze. 

“I was nervous too,” she says. “You’re going to be fine."

Boyd nods and opens his mouth to thank her when organ music starts to play. Alicia throws him a wink and leads the way into the church.

Cathedral is probably a better word, Boyd considers as he walks in. It’s _massive_. He gets lost in the architecture for just a moment though, before his eyes meet Scott’s. After that, he can’t look at anything else.

The service _is_ long. But Boyd finds that he doesn’t mind kneeling the whole time, not as long as Scott’s hand is holding his own and their fingers are entwined.

Once it’s over, and Marin has said the last words, Boyd turns to Scott. He opens his mouth to say something, though what, he’s not sure. Maybe something clever about the second time being the charm, or maybe something unbearably sweet about the color of Scott’s eyes in the church lighting.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Scott reaches out and carefully runs a thumb over Boyd’s lips. “I love you,” he says, and it’s reverent like a prayer.

Boyd answers by leaning forward to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://gentlethomas.tumblr.com/)


End file.
